


Kill 207

by luminarydanvers



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins & Hitmen, Dystopia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Girlfriends - Freeform, Psychological Torture, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slow Burn, Torture, but they're girlfriends and it gets cute, carol has no powers, im sorry its not supposed to be offensive its just my idea, neither does valkyrie, they don't know that they're actually enemies first its complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminarydanvers/pseuds/luminarydanvers
Summary: Also known as "Keep Your Girlfriend Close, But Your Enemies Closer. Unless They're The Same Person."Carol Danvers is a highly trained assassin with the highest ranking in the Church. Each day she is tasked with a new murder, to eliminate some "threat to society". But what happens when that threat is the girl she's meant to be with?





	1. The Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, and welcome to my first ao3 story! please leave comments, i looooove feedback and want to improve my writing! enjoy :)

Crosshairs lined up. A finger, laced around the trigger and waiting to pull. The wind blows a piece of her hair into her face, but she leaves it there. The target will walk into her sights in a split second, and she’d be damned if she misses this shot.

She is perched on the skyscraper across from the building her target lives in. The wind whistles past her, the ground seventeen stories below and barely visible in the dark. She isn't afraid of the fall. Her heart, pounding in her chest, is the only thing that she hears. She will never grow tired of the adrenaline that pumps through her veins on her missions. Kill 207 is about to come home. Soon, she will have the satisfaction of seeing the person stagger for a second, barely having the time to realize what happened before the life is pulled out of them just as quickly as her bullet went in.

Every kill is special. She doesn’t forget any of them. Kill 29 was still the most satisfying one of them all. She had camped out on the roof of the building across from his, waiting, for three days. She was convinced that he didn’t exist, that she had been lied to by the Informants, and was just about to give up, until he walked directly up to his window and she had gotten a clean shot directly through the eye. He dropped instantly, and the waiting was worth seeing the still content look on his face as he hit the ground.

She remembered every detail of every single one. There was something to be said about having your memory trained to be able to recall every moment of any given day, and she liked how she could remember each kill that had made her feel so proud of herself and how far she had come. Being first in her training class had never been enough. It was moments like these that were.

She sees a sliver of light creep across the floor of this apartment as her target opens the door to their bedroom. She is ready for the shot, and the anticipation is making her left eye twitch, a tick that never quite manages to go away. Her scope follows a jacket thrown onto the bed, shoes tossed across the room, and she has to stifle a laugh. The habits of some of the most dangerous people always amuse her. Her target walks up to the window, and she is more than ready to pull the trigger.

Except she can't do it. She is frozen as she stares at the target through her scope. It's a girl this time. Her eyes shine, honey skin somehow managing to gleam in the moonlight that cascades through the window. Her dark hair falls in loose coils down her shoulders, framing her face. The girl is smiling to herself at the city lights, and that small smile has the agent transfixed. She is beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

The girl steps away from the window, and the opportunity slips out of reach. She tears her gaze away from the scope, cursing at herself for getting distracted. Rolling onto her back, staring up at the stars, she can't believe that she actually hesitated. Nine years of training, and she couldn't pull the trigger because of a girl. Nine years of learning to shut off emotions and turn into the killing machine she knew she was supposed to be, and she couldn’t do it. What kind of assassin was she?

She waits once again, desperately hoping that the target will walk back into her line of sight. But several hours pass, and she never does. The sun is beginning to rise, casting golden rays over the sleeping city. She packs up her gun, carefully placing it in the case, and gazes down at the girl’s apartment one more time, before deciding that waiting any longer is simply useless. She begins the long descent to the street, where someone from the Church will surely be waiting to pick her up. She has a long day of having to answer questions about if the target was eliminated ahead of her, and she will have to say no. They won't hold back with her, and she will certainly be forced to dedicate every last moment to finding a way to eliminate that beautiful girl in the window.

Once at street level, she steps into the black SUV waiting for her, it’s engine silently idling. The driver glances at her in the rearview mirror and meets her gaze, before pulling away from the building and heading downtown, towards the Church’s headquarters. She isn't ready to face Father Engles and the rest of the Board. She's their top agent, and once they learn that she failed, they will try and torture the weakness out of her. Just thinking about this causes her to subconsciously trace the large scars running up her arms that came from brutal nights of training. She could still feel the hot burn that those metal whips caused, and can still hear the dripping of her own blood onto the floor of the Chamber as she was left to bleed overnight.

Although punishment is certain, she is still confused about what her target could’ve done to deserve being killed by the Church’s agents. Most of the high profile members of the Rebellion were men, and women were rarely seen in positions of power. Her targets were always the outspoken, most dangerous members of the force opposing the Church, the ones that were openly trying to convert people to their side of the war. She had been forced to study all of the faces of the known members of the Rebellion, so she could report back to her superiors in case several members were colluding. But she had never seen this girl’s face. She would’ve remembered her, and she would’ve remembered the list of crimes that they would have next to her name.

The car pulls up to the base of the large, ominous building that has been her home since she was seven. She exits the vehicle without saying a word to the driver and looks up at the mass of metal and glass that looms before her. Entering the lobby, no one dares to make eye contact with her. They are all afraid of her, afraid of the terrifying things that could happen if she decided that they were disrespecting her. The position of top Agent commanded respect, but also explicit fear that she could change their lives, or even end them. No one would dare to speak to her unless she spoke to them, and she liked it that way. She has always enjoyed being left alone. Becoming close to people just opened herself up to being hurt, or betrayed, or killed. There was no time to establish relationships or friendships in the ranks of the Church. Every day was filled with training, meetings, and more training. And she wants it to stay that way.

She takes the elevator to the top floor, where the Church officials meet every hour to relay their information on the Rebellion and how they planned to control it. They had been trying since the first Rebels surfaced over twenty years, but never succeeded in truly wiping it out. Rebels were everywhere you looked, hidden in plain sight and ready to sabotage the good Church. The Church had been around for over a hundred years and had never fallen, never failed the good people who believed in it. They had been helping people, training them to be people who had bad tendencies to try and disrupt the order that kept everyone safe. She had this message ingrained into her mind since she had been taken from her family, and eventually, the memories of her family and the love that they gave her were replaced by the teaching of the Fathers and Sisters who had seen her potential and knew that she was worth taking. She was grateful to them always, and could not understand how anyone would go against something that had done so many good things for her.

The elevator doors open, and she walks into the Information Meeting. A grand conference room, the walls are glass and look out onto the entire city. It has always been a breathtaking view, and she tried to appreciate it whenever she was summoned to this level of the building. The Fathers and Sisters are all seated around the long table, and none of them bother to turn their heads when she enters the room. They don't care enough about her, no matter how many Rebels she silenced or how many missions she completed. She was never enough for them, and even after this many years, it stung. Most of them had trained her, yet they weren’t proud of her despite her rise through the ranks to top Agent.

“Agent. What do you have to report?” Father Engles addresses her directly, looking her in the eyes while everyone else lowered their gaze. Father Engles is the sole leader of the Church, a role which had been passed down to him through his family history. He is a tall and intimidating man, with steel blue eyes and dark hair that gave him an almost immortal appearance. Nothing about him had changed in the fifteen years she had known him, and his presence alone was unnerving. She thought of him as a father, as he was the one who had picked her from her small town and taken her to the city to be trained. He would never show emotion towards her, but she secretly prayed that he thought of her as his daughter. As far as she knew, he had never married and never had children. A part of her hoped that one day, the Church would be passed down to her.

“I acquired the target at approximately twenty-one hundred hours.” She swallows heavily. This was the part that she hated more than anything. The eyes are on her now, and it feels as though they're waiting for her to say that she failed. They want, even need an excuse to seize the weakness and wrench it from her body, even as she screams and bleeds.

“And, Agent? Was the target eliminated?” Father Engles says, a note of disappointment in his voice that she knows is unnoticeable to the others. Her left eye starts to twitch, and she wills it to stop with everything in her. But it doesn't, and soon the board members’ stares are too much to bear.

“I was not able to get a good shot. I’m sorry. I failed to complete the mission.” Her eyes drop to her hands, and her heart shakes as if it is sure to jump out of her chest at any given moment. Quiet whispers erupt from the board members,and she knows that to them this was as big of a surprise to the as it was to her. She had never failed a mission. Every time, she brought back the news of another dangerous Rebel killed, with perfect accuracy. To them, she was a robot, nothing more than a killing machine, and a flaw in the killing machine’s system was an enormous surprise. If she failed this mission, what were the chances that she would fail the next one? Or the one after that? She was going to become a dangerous liability if this failure continued.

“I’m disappointed in you. You know what this means.” Father Engles’ voice is overwhelmingly cold, seemingly disgusted by the fact that his star choice had failed. She can already hear the whistle of the whip that she will be reacquainted with in her near future.

“If you give me another chance, I’ll infiltrate the target’s circle. I can find out information that we need.” She starts speaking desperately, trying to find some way that Father Engles’ might let her continue. More than anything, she just wants to have another chance to figure out who that girl was.

“You’ve never been on that sort of assignment, Agent. How am I to know that you won’t fail again?” The other board members nod their heads in agreement. She begins to panic. If she loses this opportunity, she won’t be the top Agent anymore. She would be demoted, and she would lose the respect that she had worked so hard to gain. She can’t lose it. If this spot slips out of her grasp, she could and likely will lose everything that she's made of.

“You know my skills. I can do it. I know I can. Let me show you that I am the best Agent you have, and if I fail, you can kill me.” The last part flies out of her mouth without a thought. She regrets it the second she says it but knows that it was necessary to get Father Engles to give her this opportunity. If she does fail, he could kill her as an incentive for the younger and lesser Agents to be better, to know the consequences of failure in an institution like the Church. They would be able to eliminate a liability while eliminating possible future failure. It was everything that he wanted to hear and more.

“If you’re that committed, we’ll let you continue on this assignment. Arrangements will be made, and you will be briefed at eight hundred hours tomorrow morning. Until then, Sister Constance will teach you why we don’t accept failure here.’ Father Engles stands, signalling that the meeting is over. Two hands grasp her arms aggressively and drag her back towards the elevator. She is sent to the Training Floor and is unceremoniously thrown out of the elevator and onto the cold metal floor.

The Training Floor was the place where most of her wounds, physical and mental, had been inflicted. This was where all recruits, no matter how old, were trained in how to kill, how to survive, and how they should never doubt the Church. They were forced to say statements doubting the greatness of the Church, before being whipped as a result. They learned that any dissent against their great organization would be quickly punished, and never forgiven. They were forced to fight against each other, occasionally until one person was too injured to continue. Several children, as young as seven years old, had been killed as a result of this practice. She had been one of the people who had murdered one of her classmates in the battles and was promoted to the top of her class as a result. She had shown the best aptitude for being an assassin and was soon training with the higher ranks and being pushed through increasingly difficult training. She had been forced to drink poison and figure to how to cure herself, been shot in the leg, and been subjected to brutal torture methods that they swore were used by the Rebellion.

Now, she is once again laying on the same blood-stained floor, ready for her punishment. Sister Constance cracks her knuckles in the centre of the room, her robes a stark white against the dark, a light from above illuminating her. The agent stands up and walks towards the woman, deciding that there's no point in holding off any longer. Sister Constance’s eyes are dead, cold, and void of all emotion as she clamps the girl’s hands into the shackles hanging from the ceiling. The agent readies herself for the pain that is about to be inflicted upon her. Constance has hated her more than she had hated any other student. She hated the attention that Father Engles had given her, and had made it her mission to see the agent fail. When she never did, the resentment only grew, and the agent knew when looking into the sister's eyes at her graduation ceremony that she would always have to fear this woman. A table with a large assortment of whips, knives, and other torture devices rises from the floor. Sister Constance runs her slender hand along the side of it, before selecting a long, thin blade and twirling it between her fingers.

“See, Agent? I always told you that you’d fail. I always knew that you were nothing more than any of your classmates.” The blade is brought close to her arm, while Sister Constance leans in close to her face.

“This is all you’ll ever be.” The blade is dragged quickly down her arm, eliciting a scream as the scarlet blood pours onto the floor. Her skin feels like it was on fire, red hot pain racing up and down. The knife is brought down again, this time on the side of her ribs. Sister Constance continues to slice up her body, laughing every time that a scream is wrenched out of the agent’s mouth. The floor soon changes to scarlet, now covered in drops and splashes of blood, and she stares ahead blankly as the knives are one by one thrown to the ground in place of another. She eventually lets her legs give out, only being held up by the shackles and her weak arms. She doesn’t know how much longer she’d last. This punishment is more grueling than anything she had gone through during training, and the blood loss makes her head spin. She knows that Sister Constance will only continue this until she is sure that she has inflicted enough pain, but not drawn enough blood that could cause the agent to die. There is still some time left.

Sister Constance draws her palm up the girl’s side, before grabbing her face and smearing it with her own blood. She looks her in the eyes, true and pure enjoyment cast across her hard features. This was the sort of thing that the sister lived for, which made her even more terrifying. This is why the agent is still as afraid of the Church as much as she loves it. People like this thrive in a place like the Church.

“This is what failure is.” The sister tosses the knife onto the floor, where it skids to a stop with a clatter. Sister Constance finally leaves the circle of light, and the agent hears the door slam shut. She will be left like this for the rest of the night; hanging from her wrists and delirious from pain. She shuts her eyes tightly, trying to breathe through the worst of it.

“Danvers. Danvers. Danvers.” Every night, she repeated that word to herself quietly. It was the only thing that kept her sane, when everyone else wanted her to crumble. It was the one piece that reminded her of what life was like before the Church, before the training and the pain. Once she had stepped into this world, her identity had been stripped, and she was only referred to as Agent. But Danvers, that was something that was special to her

That was her name.


	2. A New Mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO here are some notes about the setting/set up of this fic:
> 
> 1) The Church is sort of like a KGB/Hydra hybrid, similar to what I imagine Nat would've been in before she defected to SHIELD.  
> 2) This is set in a city very similar to Vancouver, Canada. Google that for some ideas of what this looks like.  
> 3) Carol is basically this AU's Black Widow, but not officially.
> 
> There's also smaller references to the MCU and other Marvel things in here... See if you can spot them :)

The next morning arrives, and she’s woken out of a half sleep by some of the lower workers coming to release her from the chains. She is unceremoniously pushed into the elevator once again, where she’s brought to her residence floor and told to clean up before the morning’s briefing. She stumbles down the cold hallway, silently praying that she wouldn’t run into any of her fellow agents. She’s covered in dried blood and needs no questions about why she had failed on yesterday’s mission. Most of them probably know by now, and the last thing that she wants is to face their judgemental stares. For a place where they were all supposed to be motivated by the will to protect the Church, they didn’t act unified at all.

She reaches her room at the end of her hallway, opening the door and closing it behind her before collapsing onto the floor. The room is still spinning, and everything is much too bright for her to look at. She’s aware that she needs to wipe the blood off of herself, but everything hurts and she hates that she’ll have to look at the scars that Sister Constance made last night. She slowly makes her way to the kitchen, before drinking from the tap hungrily, and then stumbling over to her bathroom. Her hands hit the vanity, and she nearly collapses from the pain that the small shock caused. She slowly peels off what’s left of her shirt, and winces as the top pulls some of the dried blood with it.

Angry red marks, deep and menacing, trail up her sides and back. Once again, Constance hadn’t done anything where someone could see it, but she had done a damn good job of tearing up the rest of her body. She turns on the shower, but can only manage a few moments of the cool water cascading blissfully down her shoulders until she has to sit on the cold marble floor. She puts her head in her hands and lets the blood run off of her body and down the drain.

That girl’s face is the only thing that she can see when she closes her eyes. She has endless questions about the girl. How could she be one of the worst members of the Rebellion, and Danvers didn’t know her? She tries to think back to the members of the Rebellion that she had previously been assigned to. Each of them had been men, and each had committed horrible crimes against the Church that she had been briefed on. Those crimes involved murder, treason, and torturing Church agents. As soon as intel came back on these people, she knew about them. So how could they have missed this one until now?

She had always been told that the Rebellion was run by angry males, who thought lesser of women and wanted to return to a patriarchal society. This was one of the reasons that the Rebellion had to be stopped, and it had been drilled into her mind every day since she had started training. It was a good enough reason to fight them, and with the Church you question nothing. But this was something to question.

Was the Rebellion changing their ways? Or were they wrong in the first place? It was a terrifying thought, that the Church might be wrong about something as important as this, but perhaps the Rebellion was evolving, finding a way to override the ways of the Church. As technologically advanced as they were, it wasn’t impossible. And if it was true, they were in deep shit.

She finally reaches up and turns off the shower. The Board is likely expecting her soon, and she needs to act like her body isn’t screaming in pain with every movement. She glances in the mirror as she pulls herself out of the shower, and winces at the sight of herself once more. Limping to her closet, she decides that it's best to wear black so that if her wounds reopen again, the stain won’t be as noticeable. The last thing that she wants is their amused yet pitiful stares if crimson begins to seep through her clothing. She slides the fabric over her wet hair and grits her teeth as she forces her arms through the long sleeves.

She straps her knives onto the outside of her training pants. Two large ones, flashy and noticeable, around her right thigh, and two smaller ones, less noticeable because of the black blades, around her left thigh. The right are only there for a distraction. She has always preferred the smaller ones anyway.

Her hair dries quickly, and she’s more than thankful for this, as her meeting is now in about ten minutes. Before she leaves, she stands in front of the mirror one last time. From the outside, she looks like a badass, a strong woman that meant business. Hair cut to a short bob because it was practical, not because it was a fashion statement. Clothes that seemed to absorb light, and weren’t tight because she liked it that way, but because they were aerodynamic. She is the pinnacle of what the Church wanted out of their agents and has been marketed to the younger agents as such. She’s a carbon copy of their ideal female agent, moulded and tortured into the person that she is now.

Inside, she’s struggling. She is now someone who has failed a mission and has been harmed because of it. Now, she is in danger of being demoted, something that would mean the end of her reign as top agent and something that could result in the end of her career if they deemed so fit.

And she’s fucking terrified.

But she steels her jaw, gives herself one last look to ensure no bruises are showing (she knows that they won’t be, but no harm in checking) and heads to the elevator to attend the Board meeting. Once in the elevator, several other agents get on, each one giving her looks with a mix of pity and hatred inside them. Several of them had been sent to the training infirmary because of her, and she can clearly remember exactly how she had almost killed them. If any of them say anything about what had happened, she’ll repeat those incidents, and they know it.

They all get off before she reaches the Board floor, and so she steps into the massive room alone. The Board barely glances at her. Sister Constance sits further up the table and says nothing, simply picking at the blood still left underneath her nails from the night before. The agent stands at the end of the table and waits to be addressed by the man in white robes at the other end.

He finally looks up at her and draws his chair closer to the table before clasping his hands together. Everyone else is silenced, and the air in the room shifts. It’s tenser, and she can tell that everyone in the room is waiting for what he’s about to tell Danvers.

“Danvers. Are you ready?” He narrows his eyes while he speaks, and she can feel how wants her skin to crawl with fear.

“Yes, Father, I am.” She clasps her hands behind her back, lifts her chin, and makes sure to not break eye contact. She wants to prove herself to him, and she needs to look confident so that he doesn’t doubt her abilities again. He seems to notice this and leans back in his chair. With a nod to one of the officials next to him, a large scale image of the target is projected across the glass windows behind all of them.

Seeing her face again sends a jolt through Danvers’ entire body. This is definitely more of what she had expected from the target: bruises and a defiant smile painted across her face. The target’s eyes shine, even through the photo, and she feels her heart betray her, jumping once more. She quickly reads the rest of the information presented on the screen:

 

NAME: Valkyrie (Surname unknown)

LOCATION: Apartment 2017, Parrington Building, West 17th Street

THREAT STATUS: High

FILE NUMBER: 218211414891245

AGENT: Danvers, Carol (status pending)

 

She struggles with the last section for a split second, as she reads the “status pending” and prays to the Great Father that they won’t remove her from this file.

“Agent, this is your updated assignment.” Father Engles stands up, and starts to slowly walk around the table. “You are to gather as much information as you can on this target, and report to the Board each day with intel. When we have enough information, you are to befriend this target, and learn as much as you possibly can about the Rebellion.” He’s made his way around the table at that point, and soon stands directly behind Danvers. His cold voice is suddenly next to her ear., and he’s so close that she can hear him breathing

“Once you have exhausted all intel, you are to kill her. We will be acquiring you an apartment next to hers, so you will be able to have mostly unrestricted access to her accommodations and will be able to gather more information. Do you understand, Agent?” She nods, as the fifty eyes in front of her wait for any sign that this isn’t possible. Father Engles retreats back to his spot at the opposite end of the table. There is nothing but silence until he speaks once more.

“You will be picked up by a driver at sixteen hundred hours. And don’t fail, Agent. You know what happens if you do.” She takes this as her cue to leave, bowing her head slightly before heading back to the elevator. Once the doors close, and the Board can no longer see her, she lets out a long sigh, and leans her head back against the panelled wall.

Because of this girl, her life is being flipped around. An assassin, being sent out on an undercover intel assignment? That usually doesn’t happen. You either gather information, or you kill people. It’s rare to do both, and even rarer to do both on the same assignment. She never wanted to do intel work. She liked killing people, because it was simple and provided good results and she never had to deal with all the messy shit. This entire situation now constituted as “messy shit”, and she’s stuck in the middle of it all.

About an hour of angry pacing and eye twitching later, Danvers decides that she might as well start packing for this assignment. She opens her closet door, and realizes that things might start to seem suspicious if she only wears black and white, ninety percent of which is Lycra. She makes a mental note of possibly buying non-regulation clothing for this assignment, and continues to toss random black shirts and pairs of pants into the one suitcase she was given years ago.

Time passes quicker than it feels, and soon it’s time for her to head downstairs to meet the driver. As she does this, she meets the eyes of several of her fellow agents. Not a single one seems to have sympathy for her, although it’s not too out of the ordinary. When you spend your childhood being beaten, tortured, and essentially having your emotions dulled, you stop feeling bad for others. You only focus on yourself, and how you can better your actions so that you don’t have to go through it again.

The driver says nothing as she climbs into the SUV, and peels away from the building. Glass windows and people flash by outside as they head to the west side of the city, where her target and new apartment are situated. She picks at her nails, removing flecks of blood and dirt that still remain, a horrible reminder of what happened just a few short hours ago. Her eye is twitching incessantly, and she wants to put her head in her hands and sob.

She’s never had a mission this high stakes before, and she’s never had a mission that would truly decide her future, and whether she would live or not. If she failed, she was dead. Engles would see to it himself, and that would hurt more than death.

The car arrives at the building, and she takes a deep breath before slipping on sunglasses and stepping out. The vehicle leaves, kicking up gravel as it does, and she is left standing alone, staring up at the large building that has almost enough glass to rival the Church’s base. The lobby is empty, except for the receptionist who is actually a Church agent, and she’s grateful for the solitude as she takes the elevator up to the twentieth floor. Her apartment is near the end of a long, bright hallway, and walking through it makes her anxious. Every step is closer to her target, closer to apartment 2017. She’s never this nervous when it comes to a mission, and it’s unsettling.

She reaches her apartment door without running into any other neighbours and slides her key card into the slot. The door softly clicks and opens itself, and she walks into her new ground zero.

It’s not very different from her apartment in the headquarters, and she’s happy that there’s a sense of familiarity. But everything is larger, more luxurious, and although it’s all white marble and smooth surfaces, it manages to feel more lived in than hers, where everything is specifically placed according to regulations. She supposes that being in the Rebellion must have some perks, if the target lives in a place like this.

The windows look out onto the city, and Danvers can see why the target gazed out the windows lovingly the first time she saw her. The view is beautiful, and makes her feel small, but in a good way. With such a large expanse in front of her, with people in each window and each passing car on the street below, she can forget that she’s supposed to be the top assassin, and she can feel insignificant for a second. Everyone has their own story, their own pressures, their own lives. It's stupid, but it helps. Her anxiety begins to slip from her chest, and it’s a welcome shift.

She pulls her laptop out of her bag, placing it on the kitchen island and waiting for the intel to begin pouring in. Sure enough, information begins to download on her hard drive, and she spends the next hour reading the files intensely, learning each bit of information about her target as it’s received.

She can now see why this girl is classified as “threat status high”: she’s killed more Church agents than anyone else. Every person who has been sent to eliminate her has been eliminated themselves. Danvers figures they sent her in to finally finish the job, so it makes sense why this mission was such a huge deal. The briefings categorize her as a political dissenter, a drug trafficker, a killer, and (again) a massive threat to the security of the Church. She’s a master at hand to hand combat, as well as extensively trained in weapon usage across the board. She’s a well rounded assassin, and she’s the best that the Rebellion has.

Funny how they match up pretty well.

As she’s reading this, the doorbell rings. Danvers slams the laptop shut, before smoothing her shirt and slowly creeping over to the door. She looks through the peep hole, inhales sharply, and opens it.

“Hey! I’m your neighbour in number 2017!”


End file.
